Garral, The Man before The Invoker
by HCZS
Summary: The Invoker, one of the most powerful of all beings in existence, believe it or not was once but a mortal, a man with a name, dreams, hopes, fears, love and pain. Before he could summon the forces of gods, he was weak, a mere speck in the vast Universe. Then came the tragedies that tore his mind asunder, and he unlocked the power of gods.


_Chapter 1: The Chosen Child_

* * *

**Prologue**

_I was an outcast,_

_A mere castaway spirit caught in a torrential storm,_

_Silenced by the roars of the world, _

_Bound by the chains of hatred,_

_Power was once a stranger to me,_

_Until the day I had lost... her to those fiends,_

_Then it was a stranger no more,_

_I struck fear with a blink of an eye,_

_Extinguished lives with a finger snap,_

_Vindicating for my lost love,_

_With death and destruction,_

_Lives for a life... that was worth thousands,_

_They called me... a monster,_

_But it was THEY who were the monsters!_

_And who was I, a monster? A demon? A god?_

_No, I... am more than a mere god,_

_I am the beacon of knowledge,_

_Blazing across a black sea of sins and ignorance,_

_Yet with such power... my love will never return into my arms,_

_And all I can do to forget the pain is to destroy all sinful lives,_

_For a life... that meant more than my godly powers to me, my love..._

_And it is my immortality that forbids me to join her..._

_Such is the agonizing and eternal curse of being..._

_The Invoker._

* * *

Blizzard winds swept the night streets of Arcania, the city where magic reigned supreme and where it was emphasized the most in all of Zenith. Towers of bronze, lustrous metal loomed over the smaller buildings below, their spiked peaks reaching high into the heavens where no earthbound beings or weak birds could see. Their windows were a prismatic green, round and leaflike, looking almost organic. Down below, the stone-paved streets were empty save for the wandering wisps of cold, searching for victims with their frostbites. The citizens were all safe and cosy within their houses however, sheltered well by the thick, insulating walls and warmed by fires on the inside. One certain two-storey house was the Arcania orphanage, as titled by its squeaking signboard hanging by a pole. Behind its double-sided door was Madam Mary, an elderly but vivid woman with greying hair and a warm, wrinkly smile on her visage, round nose, protruding chin and beady hazel eyes. All her life she had cared for the homeless orphans of Arcania, with great inhuman enthusiasm indeed. She had just tucked the little ones in bed and was heading down the stairs for a rewarding mug of hot cocoa.

Until she heard a cry...

An infant's cry came from behind the front door, almost muffled by the howling winds outside. "Goodness!" she cried, and she hurried off to the door with haste. Quickly fumbling with various locks that kept thieves and extorters out, she hurried to open the door. At last the final chain unlocked and the door blasted open with a sudden gust of cold, almost catching Madam Mary off her toes. She could hear the infant's cry indefinitely now, and she stared down to see a battered cardboard box with frost on it, rags insulated the infant within. She quickly snatched the box from the doorstep, saving it from the cold and hurriedly carried it off to the fireplace.

The infant's crying ceased as she got closer to the warmth of the glowing fireplace, where her brown cat and cocoa awaited her by her rocking chair. A round carpet laden with toys laid on the floor, with her cat sleeping soundly on it, curled up like a ball. She sat down and laid the box down, then dug into the rags to feel for the baby. She felt it, and its skin was surprisingly warm, despite the deadening cold it had to endure. Strange. She lifted the baby out, and the rags dropped off to reveal its hidden treasure. The baby in her arms, round and snuggled up in sleep, was innocently beautiful. She sighed in relief, glad that this one hadn't frozen over. The baby had a small tuft of golden hair on its head, its skin was silken and strangely it had a pair of pointed ears. An elven baby? She checked and it was a boy.

The baby cooed in her arms as he snuggled into her bosom, and her heart melted. She peered into the box, and caught a glimpse of a piece of paper. Peculiar. Careful not to drop the boy, she bent down to pick it up. The paper was tattered and crumpled, as if battered by anger. She unfolded it, and all it said was three, badly scribbled words. She squinted to read the illegible writing, and found out it wasn't even english. All the scrunched up paper read was, with horribly scribbled, snaky writing:

Quas,

Wex,

Exort.

Peculiar, and she felt tempted to say them, as if each letter magnetized her. "Quas, Wex, Exort?" she read out impulsively. Then the winds outside howled louder, shocking her and waking the cat, and then the flames of the fireplace flickered and danced as if blown by an unseen force. A chill ran up her spine when she heard a faint whisper, then it became definite.

"_Quas_..." it hissed, like a serpent.

"_Wex_..." hissed a deeper, masculine and rumbling voice.

"_Exort_..." whispered a lighter, feminine one.

Then the voices faded into silence when the baby started crying again, Madam Mary was stunned for a moment, but realized that the baby needed attention. She rocked him in her arms, telling him to hush and sung a melody to him, despite the whispers still haunting her.

_"Calm thy soul, don't ever fear,_

_"'Tis the time to stand strong, my valiant dear,_

_"Take up thy sword and face the dragon,_

_"With thy courage and noble shield,_

_"Victory thou shall yield."_

It worked like a charm, and the baby nestled in her arms. She was getting tired, and the baby needed a cot for the night. She drank her hot cocoa and went upstairs, quietly creeping to avoid waking the other children. Her hand felt the cold circumference of the door knob leading to her room, next to the orphans'. The door creaked open as she stepped in, her wispy curtains were stagnant, ghostlike in the moonlight. Her bed awaited her, beckoning to her but she knew she had responsibilities. Next to her bed was a fine and sturdy cot, made of thick wood and painted with fine white, with a fluffy mattress in it. She laid down the slumbering baby on the cushioning mattress, he kicked a little as he was put down, but settled down easily. She sighed with relief.

Then she realized a name should be given, to the sweet elven baby. However, did she had the right to name an elf she didn't know. Or what else could she call the baby? She fetched a large, marine-blue book entitled 'Baby Names' and began flipping through pages. Hours went by as she searched for a suitable name, it would've been easier to dump any generic name onto the baby, but she had her own code to abide. After searching through a sea of names, she found a rather peculiar one: 'Garral'.

Garral meant the Chosen Child, of having Great Destiny. She looked at the baby, snuggled in the cot, contemplating whether it fitted. She paced back and forth, wondering how the other orphans would react to having an elven in their midst. Would he be despised? Loathed? Discriminated? She would not know for certain. However, there was one thing that she knew...

"Sleep tight, Garral." she whispered.

And that was his name.

* * *

Several seasons had passed since...

The orphanage awoke in the shower of morning rays, Arcania beamed with life along with it. Bustling with trade and development, the city prospered after the winter seasons. Birds soared high above the town, yet steered clear of the tall, marlin-like towers which even they couldn't ascend above. Arcania was renowned for its School of Arcane Arts, where students became full-fledged mages, branching into inventive, academic and military mages, utilizing their skills for their separate purposes. The King himself, was a mere figure-head, as the citizens said, for it was truly the Grand Magus and his council of Magi that governed the city of magic, puppeteering the entire society. Most were unaware, especially the children, not excluding the orphans of Arcania.

Garral sat by the corner below the windowsill, his golden hair had grown into long flows, almost covering his pointy ears, his eyes were sharp, cold as ice, his nose bridge thin and his skin was maiden-fair, rather in-masculine. He was ten that year, still ignored by the passerby couples that merely glanced at him once or twice but chose another child. All he had was his loving Madam Mary, still as jolly but now much more aged and less energetic. Few orphans were left, including him there was a cripple, a deaf and a blind. Yet why, when he was healthy, was he still unwanted? Madam Mary came to him, her warm smile radiated to him. He felt secure with her, unlike when strangers would visit the orphanage and give him cold stares, whilst whispering venomous words behind Madam Mary's back.

Elves were not thought of highly in Arcania, for the city itself was a stolen city, once ruled by the Arcana elves years ago until they were forced out by the tides of war, brought forth by the night creatures. The war was merciless, with bloodshed on both sides with arcane might clashing with the forces of darkness, etching a massive scar into Zenith history. The Arcana elves and the night creatures, fell into silence following the aftermath of the war, leaving the city open to ransacking humans. Which explained the towers, not human in origin and far too durable to be damaged. They left the humans their arcane secrets, which they had used to evolve into a mighty society. Elves were thought to be cruel, sadistic and backstabbing according to human propaganda, yet their nature was never actually understood, but it was reinforced by the terrifying powers of the Magi , as a ploy to retain their order and iron grip over the citizens.

Garral of course, was too young to be concerned of politics, caring more for which toys would he play with for each passing day. Unbeknownst him, his beloved care taker, Madam Mary was an avid activist. She herself was not educated in the skills of magic, and in a city ruled by magic, was known as a "Peon", a non-magic user, seen as inferior. She was against the tyranny that the Magi had spread, participating in protests once in awhile with massive crowds, leaving Garral to stare out of the window, peering the river of peons flooding the streets with picket signs held high. There were times he would see her slipping through the back door to welcome shady visitors in dark cloaks into the house, and they would sit and converse for hours by the fireplace.

It was on that morning that it happened again; a heavy knock came from the back door, whilst Garral was playing with a wooden soldier by the unlit fireplace. Garral's eyes widened, a gasp came from him, for he knew the knocks meant one thing: strangers. The thumping of Madam Mary's racing feet came from the stairs, she ran for the door as soon as she got down. Garral heard the sharp, hasty unlocking of various locks and chains of the door, and it clinked open.

"Morning Madam," he heard a man's deep, husky voice greeted.

"Morning," greeted back Mary "You must be here to collect the subscription fees, eh?"

"Well we wouldn't call them fees, more like generous donations for the cause."

"Oh please! Come in, have a seat!"

Garral didn't want to be seen, so as quickly as a rat revealed in light, scurried behind the long drapes by the window, hoping to conceal himself. He peeked from a gap between the grey drapes, to see the black cloaked figure of a man, taller than Mary, his face was a shadowy blur to Garral beneath the hood. The man grabbed an armchair and seated himself, whilst Madam Mary sat on her rocking chair, squeaking it a little as it shook.

"It was hard gathering the gold to pay for this month," said Madam Mary, she showed the man a fist-sized satchel, jingling the coins within "Yet I managed to scrounge up just enough, and hopefully I'll still be able to pay those foul tax-collectors."

"The Resistance is in great debt to you," said the man, he accepted the satchel and tucked it away into his cloak "You've been a great contributor to us for all these years, and with so much weight on your shoulders whilst caring for these orphans, you're a mightier person than any foolhardy warrior we have in our ranks."

"Oh please! You're exaggerating!" she insisted "How's the progress so far? Has the Resistance dented the Council's maniac control in anyway?"

"Not in a noteworthy way yet," he replied "However it is best to keep our activities subtle for now, 'till we muster the resources we need to finally match the Council in terms of power. However, they've taken some notice of some of our doings, fortunately they're unable to find us out yet."

"Good," she said "However the tax-collectors and enforcers have started suspecting me, as I've written to your superiors, and I fear the inevitable might befall upon the orphans and I. So I've one favor, to ask of the Resistance."

"Ah, yes go on."

"Please, take the orphans somewhere safe, away from the omniscient eyes of the Council, in case the enforcers plunge a dagger behind my back under the shadows of night."

The man seemed grim after hearing her request, though his emotions were hidden beneath his hood, his fingers tightened around the curling arms of his chair.

"Why, we'd be honored to," answered the man "Whatever happens, I'd even personally guard the children with my life! You'll have nothing to fear!" he spoke with great confidence, yet he himself was uncertain.

Mary smiled, then turned her head to see the gap between the curtains, where Garral peeked. She saw his bronze eye zipped away behind the drapes. She chuckled. "Garral," she called "Come out of there, my dear, you're not in trouble."

Garral peeped out hesitantly from the curtains, his blond hair flowing out like the sun rays that followed. The hooded man caught sight of him at last, and Garral felt as if his security being invaded, however once he glimpsed on the visage of the man, he felt safer. The man's face was of an elder man, grey eyes as sharp and alert as a hawk's, with a greying, stubbly beard. The man dropped down his hood, letting his long, springy grey hair loose. Garral felt magnetized, pulled by the intriguing man's locking gaze, as if he was a storyteller with a priceless tale to tell with the fleeting gaze of his eyes. Who was this man?

"It's okay boy," he assured, his voice was lulling "Garral, isn't it? You're safe around me, and that's no lie."

Garral crept in closer, his steps were shaky, nervous to meet the stranger. However Mary's ushering smile pushed him, and found himself shaking hands with another person other than Mary, something he had never done before. The strong, firm grip of the man meant power, assurance and wisdom as it grasped around Garral's smaller hand. It was strange, as if he was under the influence of a spell. Dreamlike and surreal, indeed.

Bang bang bang!

Resounded from the front door; the three swerved their attention to the knocking, as it intensified, followed by the gruff shouts of men, enforcers. Fear suddenly returned to Garral, gripping his neck like an invisible strangler. "Open up!" they heard a man shout "We know who's in there with ya!".

"Good gracious!" gasped Mary "It's the enforcers! They must've found out somehow!"

She pushed Garral by the shoulders and ushered him into the kitchen, where pots and pans laid strewn by the sink and where the dining table was. She led him to an open broom closet, where it was dark and crowded with miscellaneous cleaning tools. The man followed them, calm despite the situation. The knocking grew more impatient and vicious.

Mary turned to the man, "What do we do?" she asked, fear striking her "If they find you here, we'll both be tortured, then hanged."

"Calm yourself," assured the man "They'll never find what cannot be seen, so in the meantime, hide your boy in the closet."

She nodded, then knelt down to face Garral, equally as frightened. "Whatever you do, don't come out or make a sound, my dear." she told him. Garral nodded, as he stepped into the darkness as the closet door shut. Madam Mary sighed, then turned to face the hooded man, but saw nothing but thin air. She couldn't care about where he went as the knocking grew louder and violent, she rushed to the door, steadying her composure. She unlocked the countless locks and gripped onto the cold, bronze knob. She gripped the curvature with her petrified fingers, and turned it...

An overwhelming, violent push shoved her back, she stumbled, almost making her fall and twist an ankle. Bursting from the door came the heavy thumps of steel boots, orange-bronze with sleek gloss. The enforcer stood towering over Madam Mary's frail figure, the sunbeams bounced off his bronze armor, sharp pauldrons, smooth cuirass and claw-like gauntlets. His glistening barbute shadowed his snarling visage, he carried a black pole, engraved with golden flowers and ending in a shimmering glaive, a blade as reflective as a mirror and curving like a crescent moon.

The enforcer was followed by another, equally sized and cladded, armed with the same menacing glaive as well, whom stomped behind. Madam Mary advanced after regaining her composure, armed with an accusing finger and curses, only to be answered and halted by the sharp tip of the enforcer's glaive.

"Save your vile cussing for Hell, ye old wretch," spat the enforcer "The Council gives us authority to enter any peon's house as we deem fit, no questioning of it."

Madam Mary seethed with fake anger, attempting to bluff her way out with a false snarl "You miserable, low-paid scumbag!" she yelled "This is an orphanage, by the gods! Get out 'fore you scare the children with your murderous toys!"

"Not before we investigate," said the less foul enforcer behind "Ma'am, we have reason to believe that your house is currently harboring... suspicious figures."

"What are you saying?" bluffed Mary "I haven't seen anyone 'suspicious' as you would say! Clearly you young men are sweating too much under that heavy armor, 'cause you're starting to see things."

"No use denying it, ma'am, we saw the cloaked man entering your through your backdoor."

That shattered Madam Mary's masquerade, she cursed under her breath.

"Very well," uttered Mary, trying to remain calm "Search all you want, but I doubt you'll find anything out of the ordinary."

"Thank you, ma'am," said the more polite enforcer, the other however, hissed as his partner nudged him to follow. Some enforcers were like him; egoistic, vile and atrociously short-tempered. They were the worst human beings in the eyes of the peons, but they were the perfect soldiers in the eyes of the Council. They entered the room where she had sat down with the man, their shadowed eyes darted to and fro, like bloodhounds searching for a bleeding hare in a field. Madam Mary eyed their moonlike glaives as they went about; the foul-mouther was about lay his edgy, gauntlet-cladded hand on one of the delicate vases Madam Mary had, she grabbed his thick, cold wrist before he could, and the brute flung her hand aside.

"Don't cha dare touch me, wretch!" hissed the enforcer sharply, with a flaming glare.

"Hey! Leave her alone, Donovan! Get over 'ere will you?" yelled the other, the enforcer supposedly named Donovan turned away, with his glaive thumping hard on the floor. They entered the kitchen, then Madam Mary began to worry, fearing the possibility of Garral being found out.

"Search here," said the other enforcer, "And try not to break anything, Donovan."

"Shut your trap, Flint," answered Donovan harshly, pointing a steel index finger "You ain't the boss of me, so quite telling me what I can't do."

Flint merely rolled his eyes, he wished he had someone more level-headed than Donovan as a partner, or at least wished he could tell him to stick his glaive up his behind, but he was wise not to incur the temper of one of their station's most ferocious, tenacious melee fighter, unless he wanted a six-day concussion. He squinted his cerulean eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of anything conspicuous, but the various mundane pots, pans and dining table told him 'nothing to see here'.

Donovan meanwhile, walked close to the closet door, eyeing it with dangerous interest. Inside, Garral could see nothing but the pitch black darkness, and felt nothing but the smooth, wooden door, but he could hear the loud stomps of Donovan's boots, rhythmically intervalic with the blunt thumps of the end of his glaive, like a beating heart. The stuffy closet made beads of sweat rivulet down his neck, dust began making his nose itch, but he pinched it quickly to avoid sneezing. He could see the highlighted bottom of the door, shining with the golden light from outside. The boots' thudding came close, and he saw a pair of shadows blocking the outside light. The stranger was out there.

He wanted to dash out and make a run for it, before the stranger can find him, duck under the covers of his bedsheets and sleep the nightmare away. He backed up, frightened, then his ankle knocked against the thin end of a broom, toppling it over and it hit the floor with a hollow clank. Garral's eyes went wide, his mind going frantic. Could they had heard the broom? His fears became to reality as he heard another thumping sound of footsteps coming closer, another pair of shadows appeared beneath the door. The locked knob began turning and clicking, Garral backed up. The knob began to twist violently, cussing came from outside, and the rapping of knuckles hit the door. Then it all ceased, odd...

Garral's breath was heavy, his chest inflating and his neck tingling with cold sweat. He sighed with relief, perhaps they had given up? His tense muscles relaxed, breath returning, he wiped his sweat...

"Donovan! Back away! Don't you dare..."

SMASH went the numerous splinters of the door, flying at Garral like arrows, he curled up as light flooded the darkness, hurting his eyes, bits of wood pelted him like hail. A gaping hole, splintered and wrecked was all that was left of the door. Donovan's cladded fist, surrounded by a sphere of electric-blue energy, had destroyed it with effortless ease. Madam Mary yelled frantically, cussing and cursing at Donovan, but the brute ignored. He swatted a loose shard of wood hanging on the door's remnants, stepping through the man-size hole. He saw Garral's sniveling form, curled in a corner, like a wounded mouse staring back at a tiger.

"Well well," said Donovan "Lookie what we've got 'ere, one of em wretch's orphans, eh?"

"Leave him alone, you bastard!" shrieked Madam Mary.

"Donovan!" yelled Flint "Leave the child alone! He isn't what we're looking for!"

"Oh, tisk-tisk Flint," Donovan mocked "Everyone 'ere is a witness, learn from it, rookie!"

He loomed over Garral, leaning his face close. He saw Garral's pointed ears, and realized he was an elf child, he smirked with a cold, murderous smile. He grabbed the collar of Garral's cotton shirt, dragging the yelping boy on the ground and out of the closet like a sack of potatoes, Garral flailed helplessly in the iron grip. Donovan lifted Garral high to his face level, and brought the shimmering glaive close to the boy's delicate face.

"Don't you DARE hurt him! Bastard!" screamed Madam Mary, who was held back immediately by Flint.

"Donovan!" yelled Flint furiously "Put 'em down! This instant!"

"Bah!" spat Donovan "Go to Hell with the two of you! Besides, this kid's 'ere an elf, one of 'em despicable things!

"And you know what the Council says, that all elves found will be taken to them immediately, no questions 'bout it. Got that rookie?"

Flint gritted his teeth, frustrated he couldn't protest against Donovan's actions further. He looked at Madam Mary, frantically trying to kick his armored shins and elbowing his steel torso, her elbows were turning red. Donovan shook Garral like a screaming rag doll, the child kicked and pulled at Donovan's stone-like fingers to no avail. Donovan was enjoying himself as he toyed with the elf kid, grinning like a maniac.

"Tell ya what, wretch," said Donovan "If you quickly disclose where your cloaked friend's hiding, I'll let 'cha kiss the boy goodbye 'fore we ship 'm off to the Council. So go on, spill the beans and make our jobs a whole lot easier."

"Damn you!" cursed Madam Mary "I told you, there's no one here but us! Put him down!"

"Damn stubborn witch, you are," spat Donovan "Maybe if I cut 'm up like a steak, you won't be so wretched later? Huh!"

"NO! Don't you dare!"

"Oh I dare, alright."

Donovan brought his glaive, reflective as water, close to Garral's wide-eyed face, the crescent blade shimmered like a moon-like fang. Donovan grinned, finally he could vent his pent up anger on something small and weak, tired of his bills, his taxes, crappy house, low-wage job and ungrateful wife. At least he could shed some blood once in awhile, that brought a sinful, psychotic joy to him.

"Put. The. Boy. Down."

Donovan had no time to react as a blast of crackling, blue energy blasted his glaive, knocking it out of his hand, flinging the weapon across the dining table. Donovan dropped Garral, whom fell on the floor with an unpleasant impact, but quickly he scrambled away. Donovan snarled, facing the opposer. The hooded man had appeared, out of thin air, supposedly he was invisible before, but Garral's terror compelled him to act. Their steely gazes locked, Flint readied his glaive as he released Madam Mary. The two enforcers flanked the hooded mage, ready to apprehend their target.

Donovan may had his glaive disarmed, but he was not just a mere melee brute. His fingers curled, crackling red flames of energy gathered in his palms. He shot out his hands, and the stream of engulfing flame burst out. The hooded man, agile despite his appearance, rolled aside from the roaring stream as it blasted apart a section of the kitchen, smoke with red lights exploded. The man spun his arms in a crescent, blue sparks zapped as he shot out his palms, a river of lightning channeled out. Flint immediately stepped in, swiping his glaive downwards against the brilliant light, and the blade collided with the lightning. Flint twisted against the forces of the lightning, twirling the glaive as it began absorbing the aggressive spell, then with a yell, slammed the crackling glaive onto the kitchen tiles, shattering them as the energies channeled harmlessly into the earth.

Madam Mary meanwhile, hurried to Garral's side as the house's ceiling began to crumble from the violent forces. She reached him while he was in the corner, embracing him in her arms. She worried for the other orphans, too. She nudged Garral.

"Come now, little one," she beckoned "It's not safe here! Quick, we must get the other- get down!"

In time, she ducked, shielding Garral beneath her as a flame bolt sailed above her, crashing elsewhere, debris and smoke flew. She gathered herself, whilst coughing from the choking smoke, urging Garral to get up with her. Explosions and scorching flames came from behind them as they steadily got up; Garral, under the cover of Madam Mary, stared in terror and awe as he watched the engulfing, monstrous spells of the duel before his eyes. He had heard stories from Madam Mary, of how the mages caused mass destruction and terror with their arcane might, and now he got to experience the catastrophic spectacle before him.

The kitchen screamed 'bloody murder' as it was turned from a peaceful dining room into a cataclysmic battlefield in seconds, rips in the ground tore the tiles asunder as magical bolts blasted it, leaving horrendous craters and fissures aplenty. Donovan yelled as he weaved into the hooded man, his clenched fist roaring with arcane empowerment, reinforced with an energy sphere, readying a body blow. The hooded man parried Donovan's arm in time as the blurry punch shot out and collided with the brick wall, cracking a crater into it like an eggshell.

Flint meanwhile, backed up Donovan as his defender, ready with his spell-deflecting glaive in his hands. He looked to the corner of his eye to see the elf kid and the elder woman sneaking past them, he was relieved to know that they weren't harm by any of Donovan's wayward spells. He saw as the hooded man easily ducked beneath another powered punch of Donovan with surprising ease, he recalled back at the academy when Donovan sparred with queues of opponents and would always punch too fast for any of them to react, but the man they faced was floating, moving fluidly between every blow, parrying and weaving like a phantom. Who was this man? Was he really part of the Resistance or a secret army?

The man slid back as he dodged another punch, and brought his arms forward. Snakes of lightning shot out, and quickly enveloped Donovan in coils of it. However, the enforcer's armor served as a spell barrier, and the electricity refracted around him like a harmless coat. Donovan smirked, seeing his chance. With one quick step, Donovan swung a sweeping kick to the man's ankle, it hit with a heavy smack and the man grunted as he fell quickly, thudding on his back, his breath was knocked out of him.

Donovan pulled his arcane fist back, his eyes filled with malicious excitement and his maddened smile stretched over his snarling visage. His blazing fist zoomed as it slammed down, ready to crunch the man's bones to dust. As Donovan's fist descended however, the unrelenting velocity screeched to a grinding halt as a heavy friction funneled the fist. Donovan's eyes widened as he found himself frozen, unable to move away his hand, his muscles tensed and petrified. The man had his hands up, apparently he had cast a spell. He motioned upwards, and Donovan snarled as he felt his feet lift off the ground, as if he were an inanimate doll. He was levitated.

With an arcing swing of his arms, the man motioned for his spell to toss Donovan aside, and it did so. Donovan was immediately flung into the air, he yelled as he flew across the kitchen floor, zipping past Flint like a blur and slammed into a wooden cabinet of pots and plates. Glass shards shattered and flew, once beautiful ceramic plates broke into pieces as Donovan's armored body crunched into the splintering wood, completely destroying the cabinet. Donovan toppled down, his helm banged onto the solid floor amongst the rain of debris. Donovan strained his shoulders to get up, his gauntlets shaking, and with one brief grunt, flopped back down. Knocked out.

Flint cursed, for he was at a disadvantage without Donovan conscious. He eyed the hooded man cautiously as they began encircling, Flint's grip on his glaive tightened, his breathing got heavier. It was no easy feat to stave off and take out a seasoned enforcer of Donovan's calibre, and with such ease. Who was this man? Flint had no time to ponder as the man struck first, with a weaving of hands, the man gathered crackling lightning around him, sparking like a storm cloud. With a mantis-like flick, he sent the snaking lightning towards Flint, fizzling in the air in a rushing stream. Flint's glaive swung and clashed with the blasting, overwhelming current, sparking the air with electric-blue. Flint gritted as he pushed against the stream of relentless light, his toes dug deeper as he felt the tremendous force pushed against him, sweat formed on his scrunched brow.

Then he felt the sudden relief of the pressure, as if the glaive lost all of its weight. Flint realized too late as he felt a sickening crunch on his right femur, and an electrifying pain jolt up into his leg. He yelled out as his knee buckled, only to be silenced by a swift, constricting arm around his throat that pulled his head down. Flint was helpless as he was forced into a choke slam, his feet were swept off and he was flipped over, then was dashed like a rag doll onto the cold, unforgiving floor, on his front. Flint felt the world beginning to leave him as his consciousness fluttered, the warm blood from his bruised nose and lips leaked out, his head felt like a cold stone.

With goggly eyes, he peered up to see the man, shaky in his double-vision, looming over him. In his battered state, he caught recognition of the man's face; Flint had seen him somewhere, his eyes flash with a snap of a memory, of a picture from something he read. His mind spun, but he finally concluded. Could it be? This man was...

"Go to sleep, rookie," said the raspy-voiced man "Wake up soon and train hard, 'till the day we meet and fight again...again...again..." Flint heard the words echo in his skull as his vision began fading away, and he too succumbed to unconsciousness, alongside Donovan.

The hooded man gave the two knocked out enforcers a wayward glance, his grey eyes closed as he sighed, partially exhausted from the fight. He gazed at what the kitchen had become; a former skeleton of itself, the place was turned into a room of craters and cracks, as if a huge gang of drunk ursine had a clan feud there, with shards of ceramic tiles and concrete rubble laying strewn everywhere. The man made a mental note, to probably pay Madam Mary a sum for the collateral damage he had caused.

Wait... where was she?

Madam Mary and Garral were upstairs, as Mary scrambled into the orphans' room to gather the kids. There were only a handful left along with Garral, all of them were disabled in some way. Madam Mary found the quivering blind boy in a dark corner beneath the room's window sill, hiding under the covers of the wispy curtain. Garral found the deaf boy still sleeping on his bed, oblivious to what had transpired downstairs. Lastly they found the crippled boy in his bed as well, incapable of walking or talking. Madam Mary bit her lip in sour dismay, knowing she couldn't possibly haul him along during their escape.

"Garral, keep an eye out for them," requested Madam Mary, as she held Garral's cheeks in her hands "I have to get my valuables before we go, with the man we've met. Take care of your brothers for me, okay? Keep them safe from harm."

Garral replied with a silent, hesitant nod. "Good boy," said Mary, and she kissed Garral on his silken cheek. Then she hurried off out of the door, as Garral saw her fleeting from sight. He was frightened, feeling as if the world was upon his shoulders. Cold sweat built up on his neck. He swallowed and turned to his brothers, the outcasts that were no different from him.

The blind's eyes were moonlike pale, empty as a lost ghost, his shaven hair was stubbly, his face was gaunt like a dead man's. The deaf was chubby, buck-toothed and completely bald, he looked hideous in comparison to Garral. The cripple was horribly thin, bald and gaunt. Garral wondered, why was he treated like they were, even though he was normal...

"UNHAND ME YOU FIEND! TO HELL WITH YOU!"

Madam Mary's yell! Garral's heart skipped a beat as he heard his beloved caretaker thrash and screamed. Fear gripped his feet, weighing them down like sand bags, but his fear was kicked aside as Garral ran out of the room. The yelling got louder, Garral heard Madam Mary cry as a loud slap came from her room. She was in danger. Garral dashed to the door, flinging it open despite his small size.

"Madam Mary!" he cried, then his throat choked as fear flooded into him.

Before him Madam Mary was held in a vice grip on her collar, held in mid-air by a gloved hand, black as shadows, attached to a thick, muscular arm cloaked in black. Mary flailed and kicked against her captor, who was a man no different from a children's nightmare. He was a towering shadow, taller than the hooded man Garral had met by a foot or two, cloaked in a shroud so dark that it was like the night sky, tattered and jagged at the ends. His reaper's hood shrouded no visage beneath, all Garral could see in the void where his face was were a pair of crimson, round eyes that appeared like two sinister moons. Garral peered down to see the demonic man's feet to see wisps of shadows coiling beneath, like pets abiding their master.

Garral's stomach lurched as the man spun to face him, and the torso of the man was revealed; it was pitch-black but illuminated by sunlike insignias and veins of crimson, glowing like flames. On his waist was a belt, encrusted with a dragon's eye-like ruby in the middle, that shone sinister red. Garral's mouth was gaping, overwhelmed by the demon's presence.

"RUN GARRAL!" cried Mary "HELP YOUR BROTHERS, AT ONCE!" The demon shook her like a rag doll, then dropped her by his feet with a plop, Mary grunted. His soulless eyes seemed piqued by Garral's appearance. A sound emanated from him, like heavy sniffing. He walked over to Garral, whom was paralyzed by sheer fear, his eyes reflected the demon's image.

"Sssssuch a peculiar boy you have here, Madam," hissed the demonic man like a serpent "I've been getting strange visions of a boy, who would one day blossom to power, with blond hair and elven ears. So it appearsss that I've found him... at last, the boy whom has haunted my dreams every night."

The monster's eyes flashed red as he came closer, then Garral yelped as snakes of shadow wrapped around his feet, preventing him from moving. Madam Mary yelled with defiance, yanking and scratching at the man's leg, only to be kicked aside like a mutt.

"Every time when I passsss this little orphanage," continued the man "I could feel this pressure, this daunting ambiance. At first I had ignored the fact that peons could never achieve arcane power, 'till this year... when I felt the pressure growing ever so strong. I couldn't ignored it any longer, and here I've found an Arcana elf boy, a rare find indeed."

The shadows snaked up to Garral's neck, and lifted him up off his feet; Garral couldn't scream, nor could he move under the constriction, he felt the coils tightened around him.

"The Council will enjoy dissecting you, indeed," he hissed "And I'll personally do it myse-"

His deathly sentence was cut as a flashing blast of lightning cracked against his back, he barked as his back smoldered. The demon turned to face his assailant with a hiss. Garral saw the hooded man, floating out of nowhere with his hands crackling with volatile energy. He charged at the demon, with fists ablaze with blue orbs, and slammed them both into the demon's shield of shadow, which shattered immediately, sending him backwards against the wall. The man charged his spell with a chant, and fired a beam of slicing thunder. It collided with the demon, conducting into him with ludicrous power. Sparks of electricity flew like rain, as the demonic man squealed inhumanly. The hooded man ended the current, leaving the demon smoldering against the cracked wall.

Then he yelped as he was yanked down on his back by a loop of shadow, then the demon man disappeared into a glob of darkness. Then he reemerged from the floor, with razor claws of darkness, and dove into the man's torso. The floor crashed and splinters of wood flew as a hole was opened, and the two disappeared into it. Garral's coils ceased their grip and he ran to Madam Mary's side, embracing her quickly. Then the crash of wood sounded beneath, the floor quaked and trembled. Madam Mary's eyes widened as her instincts flared; with haste she grabbed Garral's shoulders, and with all her might flung him onto the bed next to her. The floor shook once more... and finally crashed in a cloud of dust.

Garral couldn't see what had happened, for the cloud of dust and debris obscured everything. He felt the world drop as the floor came down, his ears rang as the bed he was on hit the floor, his sight went spinning. Splintered wood pelted his face as they came down. The cloud was thick and his hearing was blocked by the rain of debris, he reached out to feel something sharp and thick, and his eyes widened as he saw three fangs of wood tearing through the mattress, each as large as man's head, which could've easily impaled his small body.

Wait... where was Madam Mary?

Before him, he saw... as the dust cleared were the shattered remains of the bedroom floor, and beyond that, he could see Madam Mary. Garral leaped off the bed, kicking aside wood and rubble. He trudged through the destruction, his breath panting, then his stride... froze.

Madam Mary looked suspended, her silhouette dangled as if she was floating on her back. Her arms seemed limp and her legs were still, her hair dropped to the debris-laddened floor. Tears swelled up in Garral's eyes, but he couldn't believe what his mind knew had happened. He yelled out her name, and rushed forward. He hoped that he would embrace her once more, he hoped that he would see her warm smile, he hoped he would hold her warm hand...

And... he hoped she wasn't dead.

Alas, he found her body, lifeless and limp. She had a massive spike of wood, bloodied, impaled through her stomach. Her expression was gasping, as if she had called out Garral's name one last time before she perished. Her eyes closed but her mouth was gaping, her warmness had faded like a freezing sun. Garral trembled as he came closer, and collapsed on his knees. Hot tears swelled in his eyes as his teeth gritted so hard that they almost bled; his beloved "mom" had left the world, and his heart dropped like a bleeding anchor. Memories began flashing before him, of precious times he spent with her. He sniveled as tears streaked down onto the floor.

"Mom..." he whispered " Please don't leave me..."

No answer.

"PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He cried, curling up into a ball, his wails echoing through his pain. Hot tears seeped from his hands, his lungs began burning from his own wailing. Yet who wouldn't stop, until the world would give his mom back. He coughed and spluttered from breathing in dust, then wailed more. Why? Why was the world so cruel to him? Had he sinned? Was he cursed? Why did he suffer when he was innocent?

Then he heard a sharp crash of wood behind him, his hands left his face as he rose, still sniveling. He turned, to see the demon man rising in a bloom of shadows. He appeared unscathed, with the hooded man nowhere in sight. Garral heard the man of shadows chuckle hideously beneath his hood. Rage replaced his sadness as he remembered that it was he who caused his mom's death. Garral's once soft, timid face was replaced by a snarling visage, anger burning in his eyes. His breathing deepened as adrenaline overwhelmed his thinking, making his chest puff.

"I swear..." Garral hissed "I'll kill you... I'll kill you... I'll kill you... I'LL KILL YOU, YOU MONSTER!"

The demon instead laughed at his petty threats, then quick as a flash, he dashed to Garral, to fast to even blink at. He shot out his hand and grabbed Garral by the throat, lifting him up mid-air.

"Such rage, such delicious rage!" growled the demon "Now go to sleep, little one, and we'll be on our way."

His grip tightened, and Garral's breath began leaving him, his face turned purple and his were rolling back into his head. He kicked and flailed a little, but to no avail. He wished he could fight, but what could he do? He had no spells, for he was a peon, a mongrel, a weakling. He gripped at the demon's thick fingers, yanking with his fading strength. However, his rage kept him awake, to struggle and fight. Garral swore in his mind, that he would plunge this monster to Hell, he would not give in!

Then a voice, faint as a breeze, echoed in his head.

He had heard that voice before, long ago. Images of flashing light filled his head, with memories he had forgotten, or that he never knew. The voice became louder, echoing with the faint, freezing, stuttering whisper of "Q-qua... Quas... Quas.." Garral's grip on the fingers tightened, as he felt something awaken within him... a voice long forgotten... a spell.

"QUAS TRIONIS!"

An inhuman, shrill cry came from the demon man as soon as Garral yelled the words. He flung Garral aside, sending him crashing onto the debris. Garral looked in surprise, to see the demon spasming in pain. The demon clutched his gloved, right hand as it twitched, frost began creeping up his fingers, crackling as they began invading. The demon dropped on his knees, and his body began spasming violently, as if his tremors delayed sporadically. The sound of a hollow snap came as the frost declared war against the demon, blue mist snapped from him. Then the frost thickened at the hand, becoming a second skin, then with a violent snap, the demon's hand shattered from his wrist in a shower of shards.

He screamed more, now clutching his frozen stump. He shook violently as the cold snap overwhelmed him, shattering into his psyche. Frost began clenching his hood and under it, into his head, and his mind. The cold snapped and snapped, and the demon tossed and turned his shroud, his shadows flailed violently. He brought his left hand to his aching head, then the sound of glass shattering resounded, and frost blasted forth from his face. The demon screamed, his insignias glowed intensely. Shadows swirled onto their master, cloaking him, and with an echoing cry, as shrill as a hundred crows, disappeared in a vortex of darkness.

"You will pay for thissss, elf boy!" echoed the demon's swear.

Garral knelt on the debris, beneath the ruins of the floor above. The voice he had once heard still echoed in his head, but then it ceased as Garral's tears began welling up once more. The murderer's hand was destroyed, but his deeds were still staining. Madam Mary, his only mother figure, was gone, and the demon escaped with his life. Garral couldn't care less about how he was able to cast a spell, all that nailed into his mind was the daunting fact that... Mary was dead, along with a part of him. He hissed as he felt his fingers singed with cold pain, he looked down and saw his hands had turned ice blue, and the blue was creeping up to his wrists, then to his arms, turning his veins purple. He gasped as he watched his fingers twitch and go numb, then his cheeks twisted with cold burn as they turned blue as well.

Whatever spell he had cast, must've been taking payment for its services, magic for life. Garral chocked and spluttered as his throat stiffened with cold, his tears froze and his eyes went dry, his soundless scream went parched silent. Garral fell to his right side, clutching himself into a ball. He heard the frost creep into his ear, a sick, crackling sound of ice forming. His senses went astray, his eyes wen rolling and his vision went blurry. He couldn't breathe, for his nose and mouth were stiffening on the inside. Could it be that whatever power that saved him, was going to kill him?

"The boy is still weak..." Garral heard a deep, rumbling, echoing male voice say.

"Such a pity, though there are still more years to come," said a feminine other, equally as divine "Patience my brothers, for he has much time to grow."

"Bah!" exclaimed a enthusiastic, eccentric male voice, tinged slightly with benevolence "And all this time I thought we were going to have some fun at last, such a pity, after all these years of waiting and waiting!"

The voices then faded.

Garral was asphyxiating, wheezing and panting as he curled up in pain. Then the cracking, excruciating sensation was no more, as Garral's body went numb, and his blood had stopped flowing.

With a sliver of consciousness, Garral could see a robed silhouette approaching him, with the footsteps echoing like dreamlike thunder. The silhouette crouched over, with a hand reaching out to stroke Garral, but he felt nothing as his nerves had lost sensation. Garral gaped like a fish, as his breath was stolen from him. His vision began blacking out, flashes of memories appeared in his mind...

"I'll always be..." he heard the whispers of Madam Mary "By your side, Garral."

Garral wanted to yell out, to call out for his mother figure, but the words came out like raspy, throaty groans. The image of Madam Mary faded away, gone forever. His vision darkened, his eyes became heavy, his strength had faded and his breath was no more...

He... died?

* * *

Author's note: This is a story that sort of linked to my main one: The Great Saga Unfolds. This is sort of a spin-off series that I'm planning to continue as soon as I finish my main one, so this is just a little something to entertain you readers 'till the next update. Stay tune and enjoy!

-HCZS


End file.
